Tyran
by clankergurl98
Summary: Post-Goliath, K plus for possible minor swearing and minor action violence. The adventures of Deryn and Alek in the Zoological Society, and Newkirk on the Leviathan, and how their paths intersect, thanks to a new unstoppable weapon in the hands of the Darwinists. Part 4 of the Leviathan series, if I may be so bold as to call it that. :
1. Chapter 1

**Okay. This is my first shot at a fanfic, and there will be a LOT more chapters. I wrote this forever ago, and now am deciding to publish it! Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I am not Scott Westerfeld, and I don't own Leviathan. :(**

Moonlight shone on the Raffles Browns Hotel. All was quiet, and the lights were dim or out, as the clock struck one. The infiltrator glided from his post behind a gilt chair in the dining hall into a convenient alcove nearby. His two comrades should be in place by now. He strained his ears for any sound, and was rewarded when he heard footsteps. _Good, they aren't very far from hearing range…_ The intruder watched two shadowy forms slip into another alcove similar to the one where he himself lay concealed. He inclined his head forward and listened. He heard the low voice speaking in German, but that was no detriment to him. He smiled. German was, after all, his native language.

"Dr. Barlow has refused to speak to any interviewers, and has become increasingly concerned about security on the east wing of Fabrication Lab A, so there is virtually no security in the west wing, and there _is_ a breach that could lead to the east wing, but she is under so much stress that she has failed to see it," said the first voice.

"And we are to… _take care of…_ that issue?" inquired the second voice.

"Yes," replied the other, chuckling. "It is up to us to find our own way to do so, though," replied the other.

"As usual," said the second, almost ruefully, "but yet when we take our own initiative, and the result is unsatisfactory, we are chastised."

The first merely grunted, and the second continued.

"And have you heard of the rumor that the Agency has sent out _three more_ agents?"

"Yes," said the first, voice filled with disdain, "and a blasted nuisance it is. We will act in two days' time; long enough for the objective to still be available, and to formulate a plan, but short enough that those agents don't arrive."

Here the intruder frowned. _Three more._ Really, it was nearing the rendezvous time with his companions, and he needed to leave. But he thought that there might be more to the information.

His dilemma was solved with the second voice's next words.

"Well, I'm for sleep. Let's head back to the room and formulate a plan after we get some rest."

"Excellent," replied the first. "One could almost swear that plotting consumes more energy than spying."

The second said something in reply, but it was all lost to the intruder. He had already slipped out of the room and was tearing down the hall, silent in stocking-clad feet. He had to warn his comrades to clear out fast, before they were caught.

The Zoological Society of London was in need of little, but information was practically its lifeblood. As an agent for them, it was his duty to provide them with just that. And Aleksander von Hohenburg had every intention of doing his duty.

**This obviously isn't Scott's style of writing, but hey, I tried. **


	2. Chapter 2

**First of all: **

**People that reviewed, thank you! It makes me so happy! It may be a little dull at first, but I **_**promise **_**it will get ****way better!**** And, also, Newkirk is entering the story soon! Just keep reading!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Leviathan.**

Deryn Sharp sighed, wondering why Count Volger wouldn't just take the documents and leave. Not for the first time in her life, she wanted to give him a good count-sized slap to the attic.

"Volger, we've got to clear out of here!" she hissed. "Those two daft German ambassadors will be back _any minute!"_

"Yes, yes," Volger muttered infuriatingly, still fidgeting with the folder he'd taken the documents from. "But Alek will give us a fair warning."

"He may not have time! Those bum-rags won't notice the documents are gone for days!" she whisper-shrieked.

The count _hmphed_, still intent on his work. Deryn pulled her final card.

"Count. We have to leave. Doctor Barlow is counting on us."

That got his attention. Volger slowly looked up from his work, fixing her in a cold gaze. Deryn glared back defiantly, knowing she'd struck home.

"_Mein Gott!"_ he muttered, thrusting the papers into her arms and stalking toward the door. She followed, smirking.

From the doorway, Volger motioned that it was clear to exit into the hall. The two of them crept out, shutting the door carefully behind them. Being secret agents and all, they had picked the lock unobtrusively, and so there was no trace of their presence in the hotel room. Well, except the missing papers. Dr. Barlow would be grateful to have those in the Society's hands, and Alek

Suddenly Alek burst through the hall, breathing heavily and startling Volger. Despite his mussed expedition clothes and ruffled hair from running, the sight of him brought a smile to Deryn's face. He smiled back, and Volger, over his sudden appearance, just scowled, as usual.

Alek stopped short a few feet from them, and whispered breathlessly, "They're coming up the main stairwell. I used the rear stairwell. We can escape that way."

"Now wait just a squick," Deryn said, hearing a noise from behind Alek. "What's that noise coming from the rear staircase?"

Alek and Volger paused for a second, listening.

"Voices and footsteps. Closing fast and speaking in German," Volger replied grimly.

Alek paled. "There's more? But I only saw —"

Deryn cut him off. "Never mind. We can't use either stairwell, so we'll have to improvise."

With that, she grabbed the lock pick from Volger's hand, dumped the papers in his hands, and ran over to the nearest door. She started fiddling with the lock.

"Are you mad?" cried Alek.

"No!" she retorted. "But we've got to get out of here!"

With that, she twisted the lock pick viciously, hearing a snap and a click as the door sprung open.

Volger muttered something like a prayer, or possibly a curse, but she peered in anyway.

"Empty," she reported.

"And thank God for that," Alek muttered.

"Just go!" she hissed, ushering them in and resisting the urge to slam the door shut.

Alek and Deryn let out a simultaneous breath of relief. Volger prepare to say something, but didn't when a sound reached Deryn's ears that nearly stopped her heart.

The fumbling of a key in the lock rang out clearly.

They were trapped.

**Hey guys, that was supposed to be epic, sorry if I failed at that. Just FYI, **_**Tyran**_** is Latin for "tyrant." Curious? Read on please, and review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Sorry this has been so long, I was on a hiking trip. Thanks for the reviews! It makes me so happy! But anyway, to _Daft Pricnce,_ (and everyone else) I'd like to apologize that the chapters are kind of short. Just a warning, the chapters will be a little short (sorry again!) but I'll try to post frequently. Anyway, this chapter may feel a little rushed, but enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not Scott. :(**

"Mr. Newkirk!" The coxswain's voice boomed down the mess hall. Newkirk turned, puzzled. "You'll have to clean up Mr. Sharp's old cabin. We have ourselves a new middy aboard in two hours' time and we need that bunk looking sharp."

"Aye, sir," said Newkirk, but he doubted the coxswain heard him, because was already striding off. Newkirk scowled. He'd gotten used to being treated better, being the ship's only middy. Sure, he missed Dylan, but he admitted that he was somewhat miffed that Dylan had left one friend for another. That just told him that a barking prince was worth more than a fellow middy- in a lot of ways and for other reasons. Oh, and to add insult to injury, he had to clean out Dylan's old cabin, which meant dusting, sweeping, airing out the sheets- and not to mention that the flechette bats needed feeding... He groaned. It was going to be a long morning.

Of all people, Raymond Hatfield was maybe the oddest person to be a middy for the British Air Service. Apparently, he was an American farmer's son, sent off to find work because there were too many mouths to feed at home, and relatives in London had offered to take him for a few years. He wound up finding out that he could join the British air service, and passing the exams with flying colors, but what an American crop farmer's son would know about aeronautics was beyond Newkirk.

It was all very strange, he thought.

The boy himself wasn't too bad. He was a lanky five foot six, with close-cropped dark hair, intense brown eyes, and fine but serious rugged features. He didn't really talk much, but he would do the nastiest jobs without complaining, and get them done faster and better than any of the other crewmen. He was very dependable, outclimbed the hydrogen sniffers, and was a whiz at signaling and taking sextant readings, all done with a quiet grace. He never bragged, but always looked serious and maybe somewhat sad.

Yet every molecule in Ray's body, the way he moved, the way he talked, the way he wouldn't back down from anything, even his American accent (Ray called it a Kentucky drawl) sent some kind of message that he was a fighter.

In that sense, he was a lot like Dylan- at least the Dylan Newkirk had first known.

So Newkirk found himself getting closer and closer to Ray, who was quite the loyal friend. Ray had even once done his chores for him one day when he was in the infirmary-

"Mr. Newkirk!" Suddenly Newkirk's thought process was interrupted by the bosun's shout. He realized that he was still cranking the Huxley's winch in, and Ray was waving signal flags for him to crank the winch out again a hundred feet.

"Sorry, sir!" he called to Mr. Rigby. The bosun just scowled.

"How'd you like it if Mr. Hatfield there were to miss spotting a zeppelin or aeroplane, and then we were attacked, eh?"

"Terrible, sir."

"Well, then let out more cable," snapped the bosun, marching off to somewhere else.

Newkirk sighed, and then complied. The bosun seemed more and more irritable these days...

"Zeppelin!" shouted a rigger. He was pointing at a dark shape to the east. Newkirk realized, with a belated start, that Ray's signal flags had been waving out the same message, and had he been watching, he might have caught more than the last letter of it. Annoyed, he squinted, and the signal repeated.

_C-L-O-S-I-N-G F-A-S-T H-A-L-F M-I-L-E_, it read.

"Closing fast half mile!" Newkirk yelled. A rigger swore, running off to fetch air guns, and the bosun ran toward the Huxley winch.

"Go help the rook men outfit the strafing hawks," said Mr. Rigby, implying the unspoken message,_ I told you so_. "I'll take the winch. Once you're done, report back with me. If they launch gythrocopters, those flechette bats need to be in the air."

Newkirk nodded, taking off down the ratlines.

**Okay! I hope I did a good job, yes, I know it's kind of dull and that I also left y'all hanging from Chapter 2, but I really needed to introduce Newkirk's side of the story. :) And yes, I realize, I am the _bilionth _person to bring a new middy aboard the _Leviathan._ But hey, it makes sense that they'd pick up another middy, because Newkirk would probably be overwhelmed by all of the chores. ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Two chapter in a day! Yeah! Okay, Alek's POV this time, and romance people, the romance is kind of on hold, but, well, KEEP READING and you won't be discouraged. Newkirk fans, I promise more of Newkirk maybe next chapter. Sorry, though, this chapter still is kinda short... I can't really change that :( Keep the reviews coming!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Leviathan.**

Alek's heart nearly stopped at the first sound.

Then he heard a gruff voice in German: _"Wrong room, dummkopf. Ours is the one next door."_

Another voice muttered something incoherant, and Alek heard footsteps walking away. Simultaneously, the three of them let out a breath of relief. Volger turned angrily to Deryn.

"You brash fool!" he hissed. "If it hadn't been the wrong room-"

"I would have thought of something," Deryn replied defiantly. "You didn't have any other ideas."

Volger opened his mouth to retort back, but Alek came between the two of them.

"Both of you, stop," Alek said tiredly. "Deryn, it was a little riskier than I would have perferred, so do avoid doing it again. Volger, you have to admit that we _are _still safe, and had we been out there, they would have found us."

"They still could," Deryn pointed out, apparently irritated that he hadn't approved of her idea, "or whatever blokes that rented this posh room."

Volger sighed, and said, "Let's just get moving, shall we? Alek, I do hope you still remember what you heard, or else this mission would be worth nothing."

They wound up jumping out the window, because Deryn feared that using the hall would be too risky.

"You're the expert on risky," Alek muttered, rubbing his knee from where he had bashed it against the windowframe rolling out.

"And it seems you are the expert on thickheadedness," Count Volger replied drily, examining the swelling knee. "Did I not tell you to tuck in your head and roll as soon as you hit the ground?"

"I did," Alek replied, wincing as Colger prodded his knee. "This happened when my knee caught on the windowframe."

"Aye," Deryn said, amusement in her eyes, "But tuck and roll doesn't mean fall like a stone, hit the ground, and then roll over and moan."

Alek glared at her. He had the feeling that she thought it _too_ amusing, but couldn't think of a cutting reply to that jab.

"Well, no bone broken, it seems," said the count, standing up and brushing off his hands. "I think it high time to giver these to Dr. Barlow." With that he scooped up the papers and strode off into the darkness.

"He's a regular bucket of sunshine, eh?" asked Deryn, pulling him to his feet.

Alek groaned, and then supported himself by slinging an arm over her shoulder. "He always is."

She laughed, and then wrapped an arm around his waist to help him walk, but Alek had no objection. "C'mon," she said, "before he tells Barlow that we've both been killed."

**Okay, not really romance, but I'll call it close enough. Ending is a little wierd. :/**


	5. Chapter 5

**Newkirk's POV again. Enjoy. Oh, and sorry, but the updates will be less frequent, because I'm borrowing someone's computer. **

The rookery was mayhem. Birds were flying everywhere, rook men off shift scrambling around barely awake, and a stray hydrogen sniffer somehow in the cage, snapping at feathers and birds. The poor rook men were still half asleep, and were utterly failing to catch the beastie. Newkirk hated sniffers, but he knew someone had to do something. Swallowing his fear, he made a lunge and grabbed the beastie's collar. "Take it out of here and up topside!" he yelled at one of the rook men. The man nodded, took the collar, and started hauling the sniffer up the stairs. He was a little nervous about handling the birds, but he caught one by the jesses, leather straps attached to the hawks' talons, and carefully undid the harness of the aeroplane net, and then handed it to the rook men who were putting on the cruel metal talons.

One man told him, "I think we have it under control, Mr. Newkirk. We only need to outfit half a dozen more hawks."

Newkirk nodded, glad for an excuse to get out of the cage. He still needed to report in to Mr. Rigby to see if he needed to feed the flechette bats.

Scaling stairs two at a time, he dodged men with air guns, sniffers, and aerial missile launchers. The missiles were new, and instead of having to gain altitude to drop aerial bombs, these could be shot from launchers toward an oncoming threat as far as half a mile away. Newkirk hoped that they could shoot down the zeppelin before it came close enough to shoot at the Leviathan.

Opening the hatch topside, he climbed out and was met by a sight that sent icy blood through his veins: the air buzzing with something like gythrocopters, but sturdier looking and more formidable. Maybe enough to board the Leviathan.

Topside was swarming with riggers with air guns and missile launchers, but Ray and Mr. Rigby were out of sight, and Ray's Huxley was being put away.

They had to be with the flechette bats. Newkirk tore his eyes from the grim stage being set before him and closed the hatch.

When he finally found them, they weren't in the bats' roost, but instead were helping haul aerial missile launchers up topside. Newkirk grabbed Ray's end, but it was light, and as he'd noticed before, the boy was as strong as a horse, and had probably gotten stronger still since coming aboard two months ago. Newkirk let go, and moved to Rigby's end. Sure enough, the bosun was struggling some. He wasn't as strong since he'd been shot in the ribs a year ago, and the injury probably still pained him.

"They have some new kind of gythrocopter they're launching! There must be fifty of them!" Newkirk shouted over the ruckus of sniffers barking, feet pounding, and missiles being loaded.

"I know," said the bosun tightly. "Flechettes are probably barking useless, and so we didn't feed many of the bats."

"And there seem to be two zeppelins. We'll have to fight dang hard to blow them out of the air," added Ray, coming to the top of the stairs and flipping open the hatch.

Newkirk groaned. The only reason that they might not get killed was because the Germans might want the Leviathan alive.

"We'll give 'em a fight all right, though," added Ray.

The bosun grunted in agreement, or maybe exertion, as he was setting down the launcher on an empty spot topside.

Newkirk nearly dropped his corner, because the number of things had virtually doubled. Both zeppelins were visible, there were nearly twice as many gythrocopter contraptions, and the zeppelins were twice as close.

Ray just looked as calm as ever, but Newkirk thought he saw a fierce glimmer in his eyes.

"Well, lads," Mr. Rigby said, his voice breaking. "I imagine it'll be one heck of a battle."


	6. Chapter 6

**Newkirk's POV again, just because his side of the story kinda has to go forward to line up perfectly with Deryn and Alek's. And, yeah, there is a battle scene, and hopefully it is as epic as I think it is. R&R, please! I seem to have lost my reviewers :/**

Mr. Rigby assigned Newkirk and Ray an air gun each, and then said, "I'm going to tend a gun, too. You lads try not to get killed, and don't leave your post. I need both of my middies after the battle, alive and whole."

"Yes, sir."

"You too, sir," they said. And with that, the bosun strode off.

Newkirk clapped Ray's shoulder. "Well, Mr. Hatfield, been a pleasure knowing you."

"You too, Mr. Newkirk," the boy replied gravely, shaking his hand firmly. Newkirk frowned. Ray seemed hesitant, sort of like he was torn between something, but that didn't make sense that he'd hesitate over a battle with his fighters' attitude. Maybe Newkirk had been mistaken about it.

"You all right there?" he asked Ray.

"Yeah," replied the boy. "It's just that I-"

His words were torn off by the rattle of machine gun fire. Both boys jumped toward their air guns. The battle had begun.

The spray of bullets from the gythrocopters fell short, but Newkirk saw that Ray wasn't afraid of battle, like he'd first thought. He stood his ground at his gun, coolly taking shots at the gythrocopters. But what was it he'd been trying to say?

"What was it you were saying?" Newkirk yelled over the battlefire.

"Nothing!" Ray yelled back. "Just not that important!"

Newkirk frowned, partly because he didn't get what Ray said and partly because he wasn't hitting anything. Unless...

"Ray! Have you hit any yet?" he yelled.

"Nope! But I should be!" Ray yelled back, his voice cracking.

Newkirk leaned over to yell at the rigger on his left side. "Mr. Quincy!" The man turned towards him, and Newkirk continued, "Hit anything?"

"No, Mr. Newkirk. Daniels seems to be having the same problem, and so does everyone else!"

To Newkirk's right, Ray had been asking the riggers near him the same thing the same thing.

"Mr. Quincy's right!" yelled Ray. "We're probably out of range to do any damage!"

Newkirk swore, realizing that they were virtually defenseless from this point, because Captain Hobbes had ordered not to fire any missiles yet or release any strafing hawks. And the Leviathan would probably be in the Germans' range before the air guns could do damage or the captain allowed the missiles to fire.

As if on cue, a rigger scrambled up the hatch and yelled, "Captain Hobbes says you may fire the missiles now!"

A collective sigh of relief went through the crew gathered topside, and Newkirk heard Ray mutter, "And thank the Lord for that."

"Why didn't the captain send a message lizard dorsal to tell us?" Newkirk inquired the rigger who'd brought the news.

"All of them are needed to stand ready for the engine crew," replied the breathless rigger.

"The engine crew?" Ray asked.

"In case they're armed with phosphorus flares," the rigger explained. "Although those lads seem like they will try to board us, it may be a ploy, and phosphorus is just the stuff to grill a hydrogen breather."

Newkirk shuddered. "Let's hope for the best, then."

"Aye," the rigger replied, "There's still hope-" He broke off from whatever he was saying as a cheer went up from the crewmen.

"Looks like we made a fair start of 'em!" said Ray, a rare grin breaking out on his face.

Newkirk looked over, and saw indeed that the men with the missiles had gone to work, and had actually hit a cluster of gythrocopters.

The rigger whooped and then said, "Well, I must be off to my post. You lads fight hard, and stay alive."

"You too, sir," the middies replied.

Ray turned to Newkirk. "Wait a second, if they're firing, we can't send in the hawks."

"The captain will call a cease-fire if they get too close, and then send in the hawks. In the meantime, let's hope they're trying to capture the Leviathan alive so we'll all be spared a fiery death," replied Newkirk, sighting his gun again. He gave the trigger an experimental squeeze, and was satisfied to see a gythrocopter crumple some, sway and then limp forward.

Ray noticed, and yelled out, "Hey! They're within damage range of the air guns now!"

A fresh wave of energy swept through the crew as they scrambled to their air guns, and more gythrocopters fell.

And yet, on the not-so-bright side, Newkirk thought, there were still dozens more, and they had enough range to hit the Leviathan now. The machine guns when to work, tearing at the great whale's skin, sending shudders through the beast.

A rigger suddenly cried out and fell, clutching his shoulder as blood spurted out between his fingers.

Horrified, Newkirk ran to help him, but a bullet whizzed viciously past his forehead, sending him stumbling back to his gun.

More men and a hydrogen sniffer fell, struck down by flying bullets from the gythrocopters', and now zeppelins', machine gun fire.

It was all he could do to keep his shots accurate, his hands were so shaking badly. He remembered that there was a time when he had lived for the thrill of battle. Now, he realized that he could die in it.

Newkirk set his jaw. He would not act like some daft ninny hiding from a bunch of bullies.

Out of nowhere, he saw, in his peripheral vision, something large hurtling toward him. It broadsided him, and then on his other side, he felt pain spurting from his ribcage. The thing that tackled him screamed simultaneously.

Newkirk opened his eyes, but all he could see through the gray fog of pain was a blurry mess. Somehow, he'd landed on his stomach, and he could see blood leaking out from his left side. He turned his head, but even that made him have to stifle a scream. Not a foot in front of him, blood spurting from the top of his head, was Ray. The daft boy must have tackled him to get him out of the way of the bullet, which didn't work very well, as Newkirk had still been hit.

And so had Ray.

"Ray!" he croaked. "Raymond Hatfield!"

Ray turned slowly and painfully to face him, his fine, handsome features contorted in a grimace of pain, but Newkirk was in too much pain to process why the boy was even alive. Ray's face was blurry even at point blank.

"Not Raymond," the boy whispered hoarsely. "Rachel. Rachel Hatfield."

Newkirk wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not by now, but his pain-filled brain couldn't fully process it. Somehow, the feeling felt familiar. "You're a girl?" he asked Raymond- er, Rachel. "But why?" The words sparked a memory...

"Serve..." the boy, no, girl, choked on the blood dribbling into her mouth. "Tell them... if I die..." Then her eyes rolled back into her head.

Newkirk felt a fog wrapping around him. His best friend was a girl, the Leviathan could be captured or killed, and his shipmates were dying. And he could possibly die, too. He knew that the Leviathan was way too high in the air for waves from the ocean to be washing over the sides, but that didn't explain why he felt wetness on his face or tasted salt water on his lips. Then, darkness took him.

**Um, not really much to say, but you may be wondering, **_**Why Rachel Hatfield?**_** No, that's not my name. I just thought it was a cool name (yeah, little weird me), and it sounded very Kentuckian. (Awesome state. Been there a bazillion times.) **


End file.
